Yuckiness

So, I'm not going to lie. It's been a hard 11 days (is that how many it's been?). I came home from the hospital last Saturday morning to a house full of sick kids. Allie had been sick the week before (cough, sore throat and just not feeling well) and Damon and Kyla both seemed to have caught it, too. Damon's fever was gone, but he was still coughing. Kyla was still pretty miserable. She was feverish off and on, coughing and was hoarse. We took apart one room upstairs and disinfected everything. We told the kids that room was completely off limits and we quarantined McKay (and myself, for a lot of the time) in there.

We did let the kids see the baby. For a few minutes. With masks on and their hands dripping with sanitizer. We just wanted to do everything we could to avoid a repeat of last year's RSV.

On Sunday, my family had a special fast for all the sick kids. My sister (who is due to have her baby next week) has been sick for a month and her girls were getting sick, too. So my sweet family was fasting for the health of all these sick kiddos. We let Allie hold McKay for a few minutes (with her mask on), because we thought she was the healthiest. But Monday morning she was running a fever and feeling terrible.

The kids were really good about staying away from the baby, and when they wanted to get within five feet of him, they were good about putting on a mask. I love this picture of my mom and McKay, with Kyla lurking in the background. It sums up our week.

Carter started sounding like he was getting croup again Monday night. Luckily, he had his one year well check scheduled on Tuesday, and when the doctor saw him, he immediately started him on steroids. I know that helped a lot, because although he has developed a little bit of a cough, he never got croupy and has seemed pretty healthy. Although he has been a miserable little boy. I can't say that I blame him. Besides being a little sick, he also had to get shots, and his entire life has changed. He now sleeps in the pack n play in our closet. And someone else is in his old bed. And he's not allowed to go in that room anymore. AND his mommy is always holding someone else. I would be grumpy, too.

Still, even though I understand, it hasn't made it any easier to deal with his tantrums. Two nights in a row, he threw a complete fit during dinner and refused to eat anything. And nothing seemed to make him happy. I just sat at the table and cried. My kids were concerned (I don't know if they have ever seen me cry before), but I just told them that having a baby makes you emotional. I doubt they bought it.

Allie missed school on Monday and Tuesday, but seemed to be a little better on Wednesday. Thursday she was still really lethargic and didn't feel like eating anything and missed school again. Friday I made her go, but her teacher called and said she had a headache and we went and picked her up. She was just not getting better.


This is how she looked most of the week. Poor girl. Finally, I decided we better take her to the doctor. It was almost the weekend and I wanted to know if something was really wrong with her. We waited forever, but the doctor quickly diagnosed her with a sinus infection. He said the cough wasn't in her lungs (that's what we were worried about), and prescribed antibiotics. She has been feeling so much better since we started.

And so I was feeling like maybe all the sickness was finally behind us. But then Jeff came home from his trip and he's got the cold now too. And Kyla is complaining about her tummy hurting and I just took her temperature and she has a slight fever. *Sigh*

One night I was really stressing about things (this was probably Tuesday or Wednesday) and I was on my knees praying, really asking for my kids to get better so that McKay doesn't get sick. I felt very strongly these words: "I am aware of your little ones." So I have tried hard to remember that and know that this time of sickness won't last. And then maybe it will seem easy having five kids. Doubtful, but maybe.

So, having my mom here was SO nice. I honestly don't know what I would have done without her. Trying to keep all the sick kids away from McKay has been very hard, and it's only been manageable because Grandma could distract them with something fun. Kyla kept saying every day, "When grandma leaves, I'm going to be all better and I can hold McKay." And as soon as my mom walked out the door yesterday, she asked to hold him. So I let her. For 5 seconds with her mask on.

I call this the "please don't let me get sick" pose.

McKay has been a dream. He is so sweet and perfect and I have loved every second I get to snuggle him. He is awake a lot for a newborn (like Kyla was) and looks around so calmly at everything around him.



He has looked right at me and smiled, which made my day, even though Jeff thinks it was just gas. He nurses every 3 hours, and my only complaint is his tiny fish lips. He just won't open his mouth wide, which hasn't helped my sore chest. But he nurses calmly, rarely spitting up or burping, and his cirumcision and belly button are healing well. He likes to sleep cuddled up with me at night, so even though he always starts the night in his bed, he usually ends up with me for several hours. I love it.

Here he is at 1 week with the cute moose Noel gave him. I can't wait until we get all the yuckiness out of our home so I can let the kids enjoy him like I have. Carter laughs every time he sees him, but we haven't even let him touch him yet. That will come. Hopefully sooner, rather than later.

Okay, baby's crying. More to come.

Didn't we just do this?

As we have been looking through some of the pictures we have taken this past week, I couldn't help but be reminded that we just did this. 13 1/2 months ago. Take a look for yourself...

McKay, ready to come home from the hospital


Carter, ready to come home from the hospital last year

Jeff holding McKay in the hospital


Jeff holding Carter in the hospital



My mom holding McKay, while helping with the kids



My mom holding Carter, while helping with the kids



Me snuggling baby McKay



Me snuggling baby Carter

Baby's Here 2.0!

Take a deep breath, here we go...

Last Sunday I started having contractions. They were about 5 minutes apart and weren't very hard and lasted about 2 hours. They stopped after that and I was grateful. There were still a lot of things I needed to get done before baby decided it was time to come. We were hoping to make it until Friday, when Jeff was finished with work and my mom got here.

Tuesday I got out of my sweats for the first time in days and decided I better take a picture. It had been a while. So, here's my last pregnant picture.


At this point, I was plus 30 pounds from the beginning of pregnancy, and I weighed the same as I did when I delivered Carter.

On Wednesday, I went in to my doctor's appointment and I was dilated to 2+. We decided to go ahead and schedule an induction for Monday morning if we needed it. I was still hoping to go on my own during the weekend. For the rest of the day on Wednesday, I was having contractions off and on, about every 10 minutes. They were harder than the ones I had on Monday night, but they weren't very consistent and still not THAT hard (I was lying on the couch watching American Idol and described them as "uncomfortable" to Jeff). I took a bath and got in bed around 11:30, hoping that they would taper off enough so I could go to sleep. I think I fell asleep around 12:00. At 2:00, I woke up with a hard contraction. I knew that feeling. I had had it before with Allie, and I got up.

By 2:30, the contractions were coming every 2 minutes and they were the hardest yet. I had to stop and breathe (and ride the "wave") to get through them. I woke Jeff up and told him we needed to go to the hospital. He got up and got himself together and I tried to busy myself around the house, setting out the kids' St Patrick's Day outfits I had bought for them. Damon woke up and I told him we were going to the hospital. I wonder how much he remembers. My cousin, Monique, was on Spring Break and was actually still awake when I called. She got here just before 3:00 and my contractions were now every minute and lasting a minute. Yep, no turning back.

We got to the hospital and they wasted no time in getting me back and changed. When she checked me at 3:20, I was completely dilated and ready to push. Deja vu all over again. The nurse called my doctor and asked if I wanted an epidural. I told her I didn't think I needed it, but let's get the babies here.

My doctor got there around 4;00, broke my water, and we were off. I started pushing, but the little stinker was face up (like all my babies), and not descending into the birth canal. I was really in a lot of pain and could see that things weren't going to be as quick as I hoped. The nurses assured me I was doing great, and remarked that they were going to get me to swear before it was over. To which I quickly responded, "Get this damn baby out of me!" My doctor said, "the damn baby doesn't want to come down!"

I pushed for about 30 minutes (I would guess) and nothing was happening. I was getting so tired and was in a tremendous amount of pain. I would have said 10 out of 10 on the pain scale. But I didn't know the pain could get worse. The doc attempted to use forceps to help get the baby down farther, and that was the low point for me. I felt like I was literally going to be ripped apart from the inside. If someone ever wanted to torture another human being, that would be the way I would suggest they do it. Quickly, we could see that that wasn't going to work. The baby's heart rate was not tolerating all the pushing very well and the doctor had me "rest" on every other contraction, instead of pushing, to give the babe a chance to recover. Not pushing on a contraction is significantly harder than pushing, and I really was just finished with the whole thing. I decided that if the doctor said C-section, I was on board. I just wanted the baby to be okay and I wanted it over!

My doctor suggested I get an epidural and let my uterus do some of the pushing. We were hoping that the baby's heart rate would tolerate that a little better. I agreed. As I was getting the epidural, I still had the feeling that I was being prepped for a C-section if necessary, and I asked the nurse, "what do you think my chances are of having this baby without a C-section?" She said, "if anyone can get this baby out, it's Dr. Judd. He can do amazing things with forceps." I was a little hopeful again.

After about 30 minutes, I was finally feeling some relief. Actually, I was completely numb from the waist down and was feeling light headed. The epidural was spreading up my back and arms and I really wanted to sit up so I could feel better. But the baby's heart didn't like that very much, and started decelerating again. My doctor came right in and had me start pushing again. After a couple of pushes, he said, "I think I can get this kid out." And I started to really feel hopeful. About 20 minutes later, with a lot of pushing that I couldn't feel, the doctor said, "look down, there's your baby!" As I was looking down, Jeff said, "It's definitely a boy!"

After that, things were a blur. I know the baby was covered in green poop (for St Patrick's Day, of course) when he came out, but he was perfect. He started crying right away and didn't stop for a good 30-45 minutes. I guess he wasn't quite ready to be ripped from his cozy home. I know I cried with relief and happiness and that Jeff was grinning from ear to ear, knowing he had another baby boy.



Poor Jeff, though, he had to get to work by 8:00. He had 29 kids waiting to get their braces off, and he didn't want to have to reschedule them all. He had a long day, but I had a hard time feeling TOO sympathetic for him after what I had been through. He had told me before he left that he liked McKay and Austin as first names and that I could choose. John was going to be his middle name, after his great-grandpa John Thygerson. As I spent the morning holding him and loving him (and finally getting him to stop crying so I could see him), I just felt that McKay felt right. I also decided that, if Jeff didn't mind, I was going to spell him middle name Jon, not only after his great-grandpa, but also after my brother Jonathan. Jeff said that was okay with him, so McKay Jon Trapnell he became.


He weighed 8 lbs 3 oz (almost a pound bigger than my biggest baby, and probably the biggest reason he wouldn't descend into the birth canal) and was 20 inches long. Big boy. And a good reason why I shouldn't have any more. I'm convinced I'd end up with a C-section next time (and I don't think there will be a next time. I feel complete).


I got some pretty flowers from the girls at Jeff's office, probably as a thank you for sending him to work on time (haha).

So far, McKay has been such a sweet, perfect baby. From pictures, he seems to look a little like Kyla, but not really too similar to anyone. Here is a pic of Kyla at a few days old.

And here are a couple more from the last few days. Lots more to come...

Big Families

Yesterday was the most gorgeous day we have had in 2011. And once upon a time I promised the kidlets that we would go to the park when it was warm enough. Yesterday was the day. AND they wanted to walk.

I knew it was going to be hard, because, let's face it, I get winded going up and down the stairs (especially if I'm carrying my 25 lb "big boy" who can't be called a "baby" anymore), but I broke out the double stroller, some pretzels and water, and we were off.

We stopped along the way to pick up a friend who wanted to play, and my neighbor said, "Krystal, you have a lot of kids." All I could do was laugh and agree ("smile and wave, boys, smile and wave"--Penguins of Madagascar). I DO have a lot of kids. And we are 12 days (and 9 cm) away from having one more.

I once read a blog post about why big families are the best, and it really got me thinking about why I wanted to have so many kids (and come on, five kids isn't THAT many!). I hope I don't plagarize any of this particular blogger's work, but I don't feel like going back and reading everything she wrote, and seeing as I'm not intentionally trying to steal her thoughts, I think it will be fine.

So, without any more yapping from me, here are the reasons I think big families are the way to go:

1. MANIPULATION. You learn very early on how to be manipulative. There are many ways of manipulating (through guilt, promise of favors to come, promise of good behavior, etc), but they quickly learn them all. Kyla does work for Allie so she will have a playmate, Allie gives Damon erasers she has earned at school so that she can be "in the club," and Carter will do anything for Kyla for a cracker or a fruit snack.

2. PATIENCE. You learn that mom can't always get you what you want WHEN you want it, and you learn to wait. I always remind my kids that, while I wish I had multiple arms, I still have just the two and I will do the best that I can to get them what they need. This is most apparent at meal time, when someone always needs something and needs it now!

3. COOPERATION. You learn that sometimes your only two choices are "take it or leave it." Mom's not going to make you something different for dinner because you don't like meat and potatoes (Kyla) or cooked carrots (Damon). You either eat what everyone else is eating or you go to bed hungry. Also, when it comes to a job everyone is doing together, if you don't cooperate and pull your own weight, your siblings are your toughest police.

4. ACCEPTANCE. You learn that you aren't always going to get something that is only yours. You may never get anything new, but have to wear your sister's hand-me-downs or be forced ride your brother's old bike, and no amount of complaining will change that. Instead, you have to accept that your birthday and Christmas may be the only days you ever get to open something new. And that's perfectly fine.

5. VOCABULARY. Younger kids learn things from older siblings that parents would never teach. Your three-year old knows what it means to have a crush on Jimmer Fredette ("it means I want to kiss him"), and your five year old knows that "The N Word" means "nipples." It's the education you'll never receive in school. Or church.

6. TIME MANAGEMENT. You learn that every Sunday, time seems to be running out on mom. And when you see her running around frantically, her hair in curlers and only part-way dressed, you might want to start looking for your shoes. Because time is running out on you, too.

7. BUDGET. You learn that, because you aren't going to get everything you want, you had better save your money for something that you really want. Like a new set of Legos that your mom has said she'll never buy because your brother likes to eat them. Or an eraser your stubborn sister gave you, but took away because you were being mean.

8. EMPATHY. You learn that you have to gentle with crying babies, stern with bullying neighbors, and understanding with your upset mother. You learn that sometimes the irritated look on your sister's face means she really, really, REALLY wants you to stay away from her, and that when your brother follows you around whining he just wants to see what you are doing. Or eating.

9. FASHION SENSE. You learn that your older sister has the BEST taste in clothes. And that skirts with leggings are preferrable to pants any day.

10. COMPANIONSHIP. You learn that you will always have someone in your corner. Yes, they may treat you worst of all your friends from time to time, but they will always be on your side when it counts. In an argument against your parents, they will side with you. When you are trying to skirt bedtime, they will be your partner in crime. And when you need someone to comfort you when you are afraid of the dark, you'll always have that, too.

Pregnant Days

Jeff told me a couple of months ago that when he thinks of me (in general), he always thinks of me being pregnant. I laughed and said, "I haven't been pregnant THAT much." But today I decided to do a little math.

We have been married 3,848 days (10 years, 6 months plus). That's a lot of days.

I was pregnant with: Damon for 259 days.

Chance-145

Allie-271

Kyla-277

ectopic-30 (which I'm going to count because I thought I was pregnant)

Carter-264

Baby-260 and counting.

The grand total, as of today, is 1506. I have been pregnant for 1,506 days, or 39.1% of our married life. That is a lot, I must admit. Especially when I realize that I have been pregnant for 4.12 years. And if I were to add the time I spent nursing...well, that's a calculation for another day.

**

I hit 37 weeks yesterday. Gulp. My doctor checked to see if I was dilating yet. I'm not. And I'm very relieved. As I was waiting for the doc to come in, I was looking at all the baby pictures on the walls and I started to feel panicky. I'm REALLY not ready to have this baby. Physically, I have been ignoring everything I need to do. But yesterday I went and found the things I need to take to the hospital, and I even looked through the baby boy and girl clothes to pick out something to take with me. I tucked all those things safely away in my closet to think about later. But I took the first step.

Even more so, I am not emotionally ready for another baby. I have been a little bit sick the last few days (I think I finally caught the sore throat that my kids have all had) and feeling really tired. I mean, especially tired. Jeff teases me because after about 9:30 pm, I start to fall asleep. Especially if we are watching anything that doesn't make me laugh. Or if I'm not eating ice cream. But I have been feeling tired all the time lately. I know part of it is the sickness, but part of it is the third trimester blahs. The part that is supposed to make you WANT that baby out. And believe me, I don't want to be pregnant anymore. But given the options, I will take all the aches and pains for a little while longer if it means I can postpone the inevitable.

I know that probably sounds bad, and that I'm not excited for this little one to come to our family. I am excited. I'm just not ready. So, at this point, I would be happy to add 20 more days to the 1,506 I've already been pregnant. What's a few more?

Everyone Needs an Angel

The week that Carter was in the hospital was a busy week. An emotionally and physically draining week. It took me some time to recover. But it could have been a whole lot worse.

On Thursday (2-16), I had Kyla and Carter in the van heading down to Walgreens to fill Carter's prescription. I had a free code for Redbox, so I pulled in just in front of the kiosk and thought I'd jump out and see if there was anything worth getting. I had been there less than a minute, when I saw out of the corner of my eye my van starting to back out. I snapped my head around in time to see Kyla at the wheel and my mind quickly ran through several scenarios.

1. The van was going to back out into the street (not possible, but still ran through my head first).

2. The van was going to back into the row of cars on the other side of the parking lot (most likely).

3. Kyla was going to be hurt.

4. There was going to be significant damage to two vehicles.

5. Carter was going to be oblivious to the whole thing.

Knowing that in my present state, there was no way I was going to be able to chase after the van, I just stood and watched. And then the miracle happened. Kyla got the car back in drive and started heading back toward me. Quickly, I added a couple more scenarios to the list.

6. The van was going to hit the car parked next to me.

7. The van was going to continue through the parking space and run into the Redbox kiosk.

8. The van was going to continue on into the Walgreens.

9. Carter was going to, again, be oblivious to the whole thing.

As the van headed right back into its parking spot, I managed to get the door open and maneuvered my right leg inside. Kyla by this time was back in her seat, obviously finished with her driving experience. I hit the brake just as the van hit the curb, and subsequently, the yellow post on the sidewalk.

A couple was just pulling into the parking lot and asked if I was okay. Amazingly, everyone was. The bumper in front had a small crack in it (but that my have been from a month or two ago when a lady backed into me at DI in her brand new Lexus), but other than that, there was really no damage.

Kyla was hysterical. We had a long talk about how lucky she was that nothing bad had happened, and I ran through several of the scenarios with her when things could have turned out so badly. Gulping for air between each syllable, she asked, "Are...you...going...to...call...the...police?" I assured her that the police didn't need to get involved, to which she asked, "Are...you...going...to...tell...dad?" I told her I was. She then asked, "Are...you...going...to...tell...people?" I told her I didn't have to tell anyone else if she didn't want me to, but I most definitely had to tell dad.

After a while, she calmed down and gave me permission to share her story with others. Just not the police.

As I drove away (after getting Carter's meds), I couldn't help but feel so grateful that someone was looking out for my KyKy that day. I know that even if she had backed into another car, nothing serious would have happened. But it would have made that stressful week a whole lot worse. And that's why I told her that we are lucky that we have our own angel looking out for our family. Everyone needs an angel looking out for them.


**I needed a picture for this post, so I asked Kyla to pose for me. She told me today she wanted me to do her hair like a cheerleader. A half ponytail with a bow. And she took one look at herself in the mirror and said, "I DO look like a cheerleader!!"